


From A Window

by theofficialsherlockholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual John, M/M, Teenlock, sherlock is a gay little baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 21:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2403260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theofficialsherlockholmes/pseuds/theofficialsherlockholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John didn't really mean to make friends with the strange boy two stories up, but he sure is glad that he did.</p>
<p>AU in which Sherlock and John live in the same apartment building and become friends by talking to each other out their bedroom windows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From A Window

**Author's Note:**

> I saw fanart of John and Sherlock talking out their windows and thus this fic was born. The idea and characters aren't mine, but the plot is.

John really didn’t know how it had happened. Okay, that was a lie. He knew exactly how it had happened, but that didn’t mean it made any sense to him. All he’d been doing was lamenting out his bedroom window, frustrated by his family and his “friends” and the school work that had been piling up recently. How was he to know that a stranger was sitting in their window, listening to his every word?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“This isn’t fair. I work my arse off and get nothing for it. All mum and da do anymore is fight and I can’t remember the last time Harry was actually sober. I’m sick of being Golden Boy John Watson. I want to be Just John Who No One Pays Any Mind To. Why is that so unattainable? I didn’t ask to be nice to people, I’m just a decent human being, and yet everyone acts like I hold up the entire school. It’s too much weight for one person to carry! Don’t they see that?” John shouted. He was too busy feeling sorry for himself to notice the cigarette ash falling past his window. “I’m sick and tired of everyone expecting everything from me. I don’t want to be alive anymore!” He slammed his hands on the window sill, punishing himself for feeling this way. His hands hurt from where he’d bore down on the old wall and he slumped against the frame.

“You know, you’re never going to feel better if you keep caring about what everyone else wants of you. Also, being the boy that no one pays any mind to gets very lonely, very fast,” came a voice from above him. At this, John’s head snapped up, now acutely aware of cigarette ash as it fell past his second story window to the ground. He could only see the hand of a stranger, cigarette dangling precariously. 

“Who the hell are you?” He asked the body the voice had belonged to.

“Sherlock Holmes,” it, he, said back. “And you’re John Watson. You only play rugby because your dad makes you, you hate the blokes on your team, and you worry about your drunk sister because you already know she’s a lesbian, but your parents don’t and they’ll be crushed when she comes out in the near future. They’ll likely be even more crushed when they realize their perfect son is bisexual.”

Really, John should have been mad. He should have been fuming. In all honesty, though, he was amazed. Captivated, even. “That was brilliant,” he said to the boy on the top floor.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That had been six months ago. It was hard to believe he had been talking to a random boy just two floors up for six whole months and had never just gotten in the lift and knocked on his door. In a way, John thought, that would ruin this whole thing that they had going. He and Sherlock talked about lots of things; school, Sherlock’s latest experiment, parents, and why you shouldn’t put toes in the microwave. (John would have thought there might be a fairly obvious reason, or even a few, as to why you shouldn’t put toes in the microwave, but he had listened to Sherlock’s story anyways.) John enjoyed their talks quite a lot. In fact, it had become the only thing he looked forward to. Talking to Sherlock made him laugh, made him forget all about Harry and his parents and people at school because Sherlock wasn’t anything like them.

Sherlock was strange, undoubtedly, but John liked it, even if it made him feel like an idiot on more occasions than one. Truthfully, Sherlock was the best friend John had ever had. Just last month he’d tied some ear plugs to a string and dropped them down so that John could block out his parents’ fighting. John still felt in his debt.

A few weeks before that, John had told Sherlock he’d been having trouble sleeping and later found a stuffed animal, a very cute red fox, dangling in front of his window. Apparently, Sherlock had bought it for him because he read on the internet that holding something soft, like a plush animal, often helped people to calm down and sleep. John tried not to show that it meant the world to him, but Sherlock probably knew that john had slept clutching the fox every night since.

Sherlock’s friendship was important to John, even if he had no idea what he looked like. They’d made a deal to not look out their windows at each other. John really didn’t see the point in it, but Sherlock was resilient and clearly did not want to be seen by John. Which was fine. Really. It was all fine, because John had managed to develop a crush on the boy without even seeing his face.

It sounded crazy, even to John, which is why no one knew. He kept Sherlock to himself, a friend that was all his and no one else’s to speculate about or judge. John liked that, liked the control this relationship gave both him and Sherlock equally. Some days, particularly bad or lonely days for the most part, John wished he could go up to Sherlock’s flat and crawl into his bed to be held and comforted. Sherlock didn’t do that, though, didn’t show affection unless it was positively drawn out of him. Some days, John wished he was special enough to be shown some of Sherlock’s affection.

He didn’t let himself dwell on that too long; instead he decided to take whatever the other boy was willing to give. Sherlock had been giving more, lately, now that John thought about it. He was a bit softer, listening to what John had to say before butting in with whatever he deemed to be more important. John appreciated that, not that he’d tell Sherlock. If he did, the boy might stop and he didn’t want that.

John knew it was selfish, but he wanted Sherlock all to himself. That’s why his heart dropped low into his belly when Sherlock said he was hoping to have a date this coming Valentine’s Day.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“It will be my first date ever,” Sherlock had told John. “That is, if they say yes. I’m going to go to their flat with roses on Thursday and ask. I think they’ll like roses.”

“I’m sure they will,” John had said, trying to keep himself from becoming sick at the notion of Sherlock out with someone, someone who could touch him and kiss him and hold his hand just like John longed to do.

“I don’t know, really. I haven’t had the chance to deduce them and that always leaves some room for error.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to date like us commonwealth do, then,” John joked, reverting to humor to hide his discomfort and blatant sadness that he’d clearly missed his shot with this fascinating boy.

“Do you think they’ll want to kiss me?” Sherlock had asked, surprisingly unabashed happiness and hope in his voice.

“They would be a fool if they didn’t,” John had replied, his voice breaking despite himself. “Look, Sherlock, I think I need to go now. I think I heard mum yell for me,” he lied, closing his window before Sherlock had a chance to reply.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Today was the Thursday that Sherlock was going to go ask his mystery person out on a date and John felt nauseated the entire school day. All the happy couples falling all over each other, clearly trying to get a head start on tomorrow’s holiday, didn’t do much to make him feel better. If anything, he felt worse.

He continued to feel sorry for himself as he trudged home in the nippy air. Winter wasn’t gone yet and John could no longer feel his fingers. When he got home, John immediately went to his window, like always, forgetting that Sherlock probably wouldn’t be there.

“Sherlock?” The boy called out the window praying for a response. One never came and John sank to the floor. He sat, feeling miserable and forcing himself not to cry, for fifteen minutes before a knock came at the door. No one else was home, so he stood slowly, crossing the messy flat to open the door. When he did open it, he was met with a strangely beautiful boy with one arm behind his back.

“Look, mate,” he said, exhaustion clear in his voice. “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I’ve had my heart broken by someone I really cared about, so keep whatever it is you want quick.”

The boy’s eyes went wide and he brought his arm out from behind his back, showing one white rose and one red rose. “If you’ve had your heart broken by someone, maybe you don’t want these and I’m sorry I could only afford two, but fat, awful Mycroft wouldn’t give me enough money for a dozen. I know you’re used to pretty girls and I’m not very pretty at all, but I really like talking to you and you don’t think I’m a freak. I like you a lot, John, and I was going to ask you to accompany me on a date this Valentine’s Day but you probably wouldn’t want to now that you’ve seen how ugly I am,” the boy rambled, thrusting the flowers at John and all but running away.

John just stood with roses in hand and shell shocked. That was Sherlock he had just met. Sherlock wanted to take him on a date, but he’d run away without letting him say a single word. John closed the door slowly and stumbled into the flat, still dazed. The beautiful boy at his door had been Sherlock. How could Sherlock like him, of all people? Mind reeling, John made his way into his room and pushed his curtains aside to see a piece of paper on a string dangling in front of his window. Three words were written on the paper and John’s heart all but broke all over again.

“I’m so sorry. SH”

John opened the window and yanked the note down, throwing it down into the melting snow below him in frustration. The string stayed where it had been put, but John knew Sherlock was in his window, listening. 

“Sherlock!” John yelled, in case he was wrong and Sherlock was inside. ”Open your damn window!” 

“It’s already open,” the boy replied, a sniffle tacked onto the end of the sentence.

“What flat number is yours?” He asked.

“I would really rather not say.”

“Tell me the bloody number, Sherlock, or I’ll go knock on doors until I figure it out,” John said.

“4B,” came a hesitant voice and, with that, John was off. He slammed his window shut, combed his hair in the mirror, and slipped on shoes before sprinting out the door. In the lift, the boy took deep breaths. This was a make or break moment and John was determined not to ruin everything. The doors opened and he made his way to flat 4B, his heart hammering. John knocked on the door and waited, realizing he had no idea what he was going to say and panicking just a bit more. He didn’t have much time to worry, though, before he was face to face with Sherlock again. 

It was obvious that the other boy had been crying and that upset John. He took a step closer to the boy. “You asked me if the person you wanted to take on a date would want to kiss you,” John started, looking very seriously at Sherlock. “The answer is yes and he’s very sad that you ran away before he could say yes,” John told him.

Sherlock just stood and stared, looking like a baby deer in headlights. He opened his mouth and closed it again, his mind reeling to keep up with what John had just been saying to him. “A date,” he said at last, smacking himself in the forehead after he spoke. John took both of his hands to ensure he wouldn’t do that again and nodded. “You… actually want to go on a date with me,” the boy rephrased.

“Yeah, I do,” john said, nodding his head as both he and Sherlock spoke. “Sherlock, you have no idea how much I like you. There have been days when all I wanted was to come upstairs and crawl into bed with you so we could just lie together and not think about things that didn’t matter,” John admitted with a blush.

Sherlock positively beamed at the other boy. “I’ve wanted that, too,” he said quietly. “I didn’t… I didn’t think you would like me if you saw me. I thought that you would think that I was too ugly.”

“No,” John said quickly. “I think you’re so incredibly beautiful,” John said earnestly.

Maybe John imagined it, but he thought he saw a slight blush on Sherlock’s high cheekbones when he was complimented. “Thank you,” he said, squeezing John’s hands. 

Up until this point, they had been standing together in the doorway, partially in and partially out of the doorway. “Would… would you like to come inside?” Sherlock asked shyly, making John grin widely at him.

“Well, that all depends,” he said with a smile.

“On what?” Sherlock asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

“Will I get to lie in bed with you?” John asked cheekily, still smiling and then laughing as Sherlock turned bright red.

“If you want we could,” he paused to clear his throat and regain his composure. “I think that we could do that, yes.”

John laughed again and leaned up on his toes to kiss Sherlock’s still slightly pink cheek. “Good. Lead the way,” he said, still grasping one of Sherlock’s hands in his own as the boy walked inside, looking a bit shocked. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The boys did end up in Sherlock’s bed, talking and laughing. As the night went on and still no one came home to Sherlock’s flat, John got a bit more daring, deciding to take Sherlock into his arms and hold him close, cuddling the boy like he’d wanted to for months. It was getting increasingly later, almost seven by now, and John was growing more and more concerned.

“Sherlock?” he asked quietly, playing with the other boy’s curls. 

“Yes?” the boy replied from his place against John’s side.

“Where is everyone?”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“I mean, why aren’t your mum and dad or your brother home?”

“Oh, Mummy and Father are on holiday in America for their anniversary and Mycroft lives in a flat of his own, since he’s nine years older than me.”

“So how long are you here alone?” John questioned.

“Well, it was two weeks total and it’s already been four days, so another ten days,” Sherlock said as if it was no big deal. 

“You’re living here all alone for two whole weeks?” John asked incredulously.

“Yes, I am. Why?” 

“I just… I suppose it’s strange to me that your parents would just leave you and go on holiday.”

“Oh, Mycroft has been instructed to bring me groceries in three days so that I don’t starve. I’m fine, John. They’ve done this before. I spend lots of time alone,” he said nonchalantly.

“Not anymore,” John said, making Sherlock twist around in his arms so that he could see him. Subsequently, that meant he had to straddle John, warm breath close to his face and a nervous smile on his lips.

“Really?” the boy asked.

John nodded in reply and smiled up at Sherlock. “Really,” he promised.

“Remember how you said that you wanted to kiss me?” Sherlock whispered, voice trembling a bit as John laughed. Sherlock raised a n eyebrow, unable to find the humor in what he’d just said.

“Of course I remember, you absolute git,” he said fondly. “I only just said it a few hours ago. My memory isn’t that bad yet,” John joked, a happy grin stretching out over his face.

“Right,” Sherlock said, looking down bashfully at where his hips were resting on John’s thighs.

John tilted the boy’s chin up so that he was able to see Sherlock’s adorable blush and beautiful eyes. John hadn’t yet decided what color those striking eyes were; maybe blue or grey or green. In his experience so far, the coloring seemed to change depending on how Sherlock felt at that moment and that just made John think that he was even more extraordinary than John already believed him to be. This special boy was all his and John had already made it his mission to ensure that Sherlock never again spent another day feeling desolate and lonely in this flat all by himself.

Smiling, John whispered, “Hey.”

Sherlock smiled fondly at him and flushed ever so slightly, chin still in John’s gentle hands. “Hello, John Watson,” Sherlock said with a smile that could only be properly described as absolutely and terribly besotted.

“Can I kiss you?” John whispered to the boy, moving ever so slightly so that he could be closer to Sherlock’s mouth if and when the other boy said yes.

Sherlock just nodded, giddy excitement coursing through him at even the mere prospect of being able to be kissed by John Watson, the most remarkable boy in the world, as far as Sherlock was concerned. Maybe he was biased, but he couldn’t find it in him to care all that much. He was more than happy to be biased if it meant he got to have John holding him and calling him brilliant and making him feel as if he really was a completely normal teenage boy. Really, having John in his life did make him feel more like a regular teenager. He had a boyfriend, or hoped he did, and that in and of itself was something that Sherlock had always thought was unattainable for him.

Sherlock was caught up in his own mind up until the very second that John’s lips found his. Then he felt like every single one of his nerve endings had been set ablaze. His lips were nervous and clumsy and Sherlock was all but in shock at the way John kissed him. It was soft and caring, making Sherlock feel like John was saying, “I’ve got you now and I’ll never let you go.”

When the two boys pulled away some time later, Sherlock’s world was spinning on a whole new axis. The boy smiled breathlessly at John and pecked his lips yet again, just for good measure. John laughed and pulled Sherlock flush against him, playing with his hair again. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, John massaging Sherlock’s head and Sherlock all but purring in his contentment.

“John?” Sherlock asked after a while.

John just hummed and Sherlock took that as a sign to continue. “Are you my boyfriend now?” he asked sheepishly.

John smiled and kissed the top of Sherlock’s head. “I am if you want me to be.”

“I do,” Sherlock said with a small nod, feeling John smile against the top of his head.

“Good. Me, too,” John replied, smiling wider than he had in months.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and kudos are vastly appreciated.  
> xx,  
> Presley


End file.
